Many Gautengers have never heard of Robertson. Oh, they know Hermanus, (great whale spotting), Stellenbosch and Franschhoek - those are the " trendy" Cape towns. Robertson, on the other hand, is more of a mystery.
Actually, who was Robertson? Well, it turns out he was a much-loved Dutch Reformed Church minister, Dr William Robertson, whose parish was Swellendam and surrounding areas. We're talking the early to mid-18th century here, somewhere round about 1750.
According to an informative online history written by B Sachs, in 1792 a large chunk of land known as Over Het Roode Zand was let to a farmer Joubert.
Between 1728 and 1790, Roodezand (as the farm was now called) changed hands several times and, almost a century later, belonged to a devout farmer called Johannes W van Zijl.
He held a church service at his home every three months, and each time the minister of Swellendam, Dr William Robertson, would trundle along in his wagon to officiate.
In 1952, the growing community approached the church with a request that a town be established. Dr Robertson, the minister and the local schoolteacher, Maritz Polack, purchased Van Zijl's farm for £4 200.
Because Dr Robertson was so loved, it was only natural that the town be named after him. And thus the town of Robertson was born.
The official birth date of Robertson is 1853, which is the year the cornerstone of the Dutch Reformed Church was laid.
The folk of Robertson wanted their very own Dutch Reformed minister - remember, Dr Robertson kept schlepping from Swellendam. Obligingly, Dr Robertson summoned a young minister from his home country, Scotland, the Rev Andrew McGregor, who then served Robertson for over 40 years.
He also happily married Elizabeth Augusta, Dr Robertson's daughter. No guessing from whom the town McGregor got its name.
My parents' domestic worker, Johanna Cupido, came from McGregor and she always said it was the "prettiest place in the world".
Not that Johanna had travelled beyond McGregor, Cape Town and a few times to Johannesburg, which she proclaimed "a devil's city because God releases his thunder on it every day in summer". Johanna was terrified of thunderstorms.
The reason I had researched Robertson was that I had been invited to spend a night at a new hostelry just opened, the Robertson Small Hotel.
Not only would I find the Robertson Small Hotel charming, I was told, but it had the added attraction that its eatery was a Reuben's.
Yes, a second Reuben's, the first being the legendary Reuben's in Franschhoek, home of top chef Reuben Riffel. Reuben won Chef of the Year in 2004 and his fame has spread worldwide.
So, on a sunny day, we drove from Cape Town to Robertson, taking it slowly because the countryside was in full bloom.
When we got to Du Toit's Kloof pass we decided to skip the impressive straight-through tunnel and take the roundabout way. The tunnel is speedy but the view from the pass heavenly. Figuratively and literally. At times we'd find ourselves driving through mist in our chariot.
About an hour-and-a-half later we arrived at Robertson, a pleasantly sleepy dorp in the best Cape tradition. It wouldn't have surprised me to see the original Dr Robertson emerging from the not small Dutch Reformed Church at the centre of the town.
We followed directions and soon found ourselves in a lazy, leafy street parked outside a beautiful old Victorian house complete with small turret.
We'd arrived at The Robertson Small Hotel.
Like a dart from a blowpipe, out shot an immaculately clad young man with a smile as wide as a half moon. Introducing himself as Raynaldo, he welcomed and ushered us inside.
Oh, how nice. How light and airy the foyer and what a good-looking staff. Young and smiling, they'd lined up to say hello.
We floated through a budding garden where a reassuringly solid door opened on to our poolside suite. Heaven is a large sunshine room with a bed so large that you could host the entire Springbok team - oh, I should be so lucky! Everything was white and bright.
The en-suite bathroom sparkled as the sun streamed through the skylight and, looking upwards, I spotted a crimson-breasted shrike flying past.
Heaven. Imagine birdwatching while lying in the bath.
The welcome letter will tell you a little about the charmingly different Robertson Small Hotel.
At the top was attached a delicate leaf. A classy touch indeed, and it read as follows:
"Dear Rob and Carol
Welcome!
We are delighted to have the pleasure of your company and trust that your time spent in the tranquillity of our hotel will be inspirational and restorative.
"Robertson then: The town was founded in 1853 and named after church minister Dr William Robertson. Farming and wagon building were the town's main industries at the time.
"Robertson now: The town is the western gateway to the heart of Route 62. Forms part of the longest wine route in the world. Referred to as 'The valley of wine and roses' and 'The jacaranda capital of the Western Cape'."
The letter was signed by the staff of 17.
I sat on the edge of our spacious stoep and put my tired toes into the long narrow pool. Immediately revitalised toes leapt upwards, for the water was icy. Well, spring had only just sprung and there was a chill in the air.
Riaan Kruger and his fair half, Stefane, manage this tiny perfect place and they do it with unobtrusive skill and great flair.
We relaxed for at least five seconds and then I lost myself in the king-sized bath that could have fitted half the Springbok team. Ah, well, there are times when just a spouse will have to do. But mine is a shower man. The shower was good, he said, shaking himself like a dog as men are wont to do.
Relaxed and fragrant, we wafted into the bar for a pre-dinner drink where we chatted with a couple there to attend a party.
Then came the big moment. Into Reuben's at The Robertson Small Hotel we walked, a candlelit space with one long table - for the party, we surmised - and a few smaller tables. Ours was in a corner and we looked onto the old stables, converted, we were told, into the honeymoon suite.
Aha.
The executive chef of Reuben's at Robertson is Aviv Liebenberg and the pastry chef is Christien van der Westhuizen, who created the feast that arrived at our white-clothed table.
Crispy sweetbreads with a sauce soubise, salsa verde, white anchovy beignets and lemon emulsion was just my starter.
My husband chose the springbok carpaccio and smiled between bites.
One dukkah-crusted lamb and a wing rib later, we were sated but somehow managed to fit in an espresso panna cotta with roasted banana sherbert, organic pecan and frangipani. Sinful. Then came the cheeses. Sin duplicated.
If you dine at Reuben's at the Robertson, you do so in a leisurely style because to enjoy it any other way is foolish. Bradley, our informative waiter, suggested Buffalo Creek 2006. "Very smooth on the palate," he said. It was indeed a truly pleasurable experience, one to be savoured even as the waistband of my skirt split.
So happy was the atmosphere that we were sent champagne from the birthday girl at the table beside us that made us feel even more at home.
We fell into our welcoming white bed and slept the sleep of stomachs satisfactorily satiated.
Next morning, we wandered around the hotel. It's small and delightful yet private. From the corner of my eye I noticed a young man washing my car. I felt embarrassed; the last time my ancient car had been washed was sometime during the last century.
Reuben's for breakfast is sunny and awake, and you'll be happy to know that most of the food prepared and eaten is local and organic. The vegetables and fruit hailed from McGregor, the cheeses and milk from Ashton, Robertson and Oudtshoorn, a little further away.
The olive products were pure Robertson while everything piggled came from a free-range pork farm in Ashton.
Breakfast was delicious and different. I mean, have you ever thought of or eaten rooibos and honey guavas or saffron and vanilla pears?
Then came duck or chicken eggs, Toulouse sausages, crispy bacon, tomatoes and onions, or a French toast brioche or an omelette with caramelised onions and a choice of three different fillings or an eggs Benedict bagel. If it's Saturday, I have to eat a bagel, and so it was that I consumed a home-baked bagel topped with cream cheese, caper salsa, local salmon trout, poached eggs and lemon hollandaise. I was in bagel paradise.
Robertson might not have made the trendy list before, but I reckon the advent of the new Robertson Small Hotel might just change this.
So what does one do in Robertson, besides spending lazy time at the small hotel and eating, eating and eating? Go wine tasting or take a cruise down the river - we didn't - but they say it's a lovely way to spend time.
We thought of popping into the farmers' market, going on a township tour or perhaps visiting the Klaasvoogds game reserve at the foothills of the Langeberg mountains, but then Stefane mentioned the word "succulents". Now, my youngest child Nicky lives in New York and is a succulent fiend. She is, I am sure, the only person growing succulents in a city known for its inclement winters.
"You have to visit Soekershof," Stef smiled. "It really is a most unusual place." So, for Nicky's sake, departing the lovely Robertson Small Hotel with waves and smiles, we set off to find the succulents of Soekershof.
We went a little astray, but it didn't matter; the countryside is so seductive that it's a pleasure getting lost.
Then we'd arrived at "the largest succulent botanical gardens in the world". This description came from Soekershof's very colourful owner, Herman van Bon, who, with his partner Yvonne de Wit, created this extraordinary place.
The brochure states that this is not your usual garden, nor is it your usual day outing either. That's for sure. This secret botanical succulent garden is virtually hidden and looks most unprepossessing from the outside. There's a simple entrance but walk into the gardens and you'll be bowled over by the variety of exquisite succulents.
Then there are the cacti, large, small and in-between. The colours are breathtaking and there are mazes galore such as the Klaas Voogds maze where, yes, you might get lost but it doesn't matter. And who was Klaas Voogds? Ask Herman and he'll tell you the long story.
Or there's a smaller butterfly maze or a cactus labyrinth. I went walking and lost myself only to appear on the edge of a field. A wilderness of succulents and cacti on one side and, on the other, two gentle horses grazing.
You must take a guided tour. We struck it lucky and got the enthusiastic Herman. Four hours later, we sat on the stoep of his unpretentious cottage and enjoyed tea and rusks with him and Yvonne.
What a treasure chest this little-known botanical garden is. The entrance fee was just R60 per person, the biggest bargain in the Western Cape.
Later, as we drove back to Cape Town, not even stopping to snack en route as so heartily had we breakfasted at the Robertson Small Hotel, we twitched with pleasure.
We felt like pioneers who'd gone to explore a relatively unknown magical mystery destination and had come away filled with metaphorical jewels.
If you go...
- GETTING THERE: It's a reasonable one-and-a-half hour trip from Cape Town past Worcester. Dally on the way there and back, because it's beautiful countryside.
- ACCOMMODATION: The newly opened Robertson Small Hotel is a most classy, reasonably priced establishment where you will be treated like royalty. Prices range from R650 to R1 200 per person sharing and include a truly scrumptious breakfast at Reuben's.
- REUBEN'S: Happily, Reuben's is the eating place of the Robertson Small Hotel, so if you are staying there, why go anywhere else? However, outsiders are also welcome to dine there but booking is essential.
- INFORMATION: You will find The Robertson Small Hotel in Robertson, phone 023 626 7200, e-mail: [email protected] or check out the website: www.therobertsonsmallhotel.com
- Soekershof Private Mazes and Botanical Gardens (to give it its full name) is definitely worth a visit. Situated just outside Robertson at Klaas Voogds West, phone 023 626 4134, e-mail: [email protected] and website: www.soekershof.com